Atonement
by MengPoNiang
Summary: In which the Turtles seek revenge for April's death, and Don makes what may be a fatal mistake...sequel to Night Falls. Rated for language, gore, and possible later torment.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a sequel to my first fic, Night Falls. It probably would be helpful if you read that first, but at any rate...Please review, and as always, I don't own anything here.**

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Michelangelo could hear it in his dreams. A hiss and a gurgle, over and over, a choking sputter, then silence. His brain knew that he was sleeping, but he could not force himself awake. He could only wait it out, cringing at the sounds that April made as she died. Several times a night he would jolt out of sleep, the noises still echoing in his ears, and lay staring into the darkness of his bedroom. It had only been two days since they returned from the farm, but they had been tense days, and they were filled with charged silence and short tempers. His nights weren't any better.

Mike sighed into the darkness. A slick of cold sweat on his forehead chilled him, and he tucked his blankets closer under his chin and curled his legs up toward his chest. Part of him wanted to cry. But he was tired, sick and tired of crying, which in turn made him feel even worse, as though he was being disloyal. He knew it would be hours before he made it back to sleep, and it hardly even seemed worth it. With a groan, he kicked off the blankets and rolled out of bed, stumbling out toward the living area.

The lair was dark, and he had to stand for a moment to let his eyes adjust. As he did, he was startled to see the form of one of his brothers sitting motionless on the couch. Shuffling his feet so as to avoid stubbing his toes, Mike shambled over and plopped to a seat in an overstuffed chair.

"Can't sleep?" Donatello's quiet tenor came out of the darkness, weary and subdued.

"Nah. I figured that since Leo would be booting my ass out of bed in three hours anyway, I might as well beat him to the punch."

Don gave a little mirthless snort of a laugh. "Yeah."

"Besides, Splinter is always on me to make better use of my time, so what better use than to sit in the dark and contemplate my navel?" Mike paused, glancing back toward his bedroom, where the soft glow of his nightlight beckoned. "What're you doing out here in the dark, anyway?"

A little sigh, barely audible. "Just thinking."

Mike gave a sigh of his own. "I hear ya, bro. I've never had this much trouble sleeping." He paused, unsure if he should continue, then plunged forward without preamble. "You can't keep obsessing about April, you know."

"I was thinking about that, actually." Don ignored his brother's admonition and leaned forward, seeking Mike's gaze. "What are we going to do about it?"

"About what?"

An exasperated sound came out of the darkness. "About what? About the fact that the Dragons slaughtered our friend. About what. Jesus." The last word was a bitter laugh.

"Donny, I hate to break it to you, but not too many Dragons made it out of that alley alive. And how would we even find the ones who did?"

"That's not who I'm talking about. Those kids are small fish. They didn't just happen onto April by luck. Somebody ordered this to hurt us, and I'd put money on the fact that it was Hun."

Mike leaned back in the chair and laid the back of his neck against the headrest. "Hun doesn't strike me as being the mastermind type of guy, you know." The thought of deliberately taking on that mountain of a human being was enough to make him vaguely sick to his stomach, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache putting pressure on the backs of his eyes. "I dunno, Don. Maybe."

As if he could sense Mike's discomfort, Don gave another sigh. "I'm going to go by April's apartment tomorrow. Maybe there's some clue there. And we need to make sure that there's no trace of us left. No pictures, nothing."

"April would hate that the store will close." Mike felt a catch in his throat. "She loved that store."

"All the more reason to find these cocksuckers and make them pay."

Michelangelo was startled and a bit frightened at the hard tone in Don's voice. This wasn't his gentle, quiet brother. This was someone new, someone scary. "You know, this whole thing is usually Raph's job."

"What whole thing?"

"Being a revenge-obsessed, violent hard-ass."

Don gave a bark of laughter. "Guess I had a wake-up call. Maybe he's had the right idea all along."

"You don't really think that. We're all angry, Don. But I know you, and you're too smart to get caught up in all the berserker vengeance talk." Mike stopped, considering his words, wanting so desperately to make his brother hear him. "We'll get them, bro. But we have to plan. We can't just go out there half-cocked, or we'll just get slaughtered ourselves." He regretted his choice of words immediately, and his stomach gave a flop.

"Don't worry, Mikey." There was steel in Donatello's words. "I'm going to make this right."

"But that's my point!" Mike cringed at the high-pitched whine of his voice, and he forced himself to breathe. "You're trying to take this on alone. We've got to do this together. No Lone Ranger shit. No Nightwatcher vigilante crap. We do it as a team, or we don't do it at all."

"Now you're sounding like Leo." Dry humor softened Donny's accusation.

Mike gave a little laugh. "Every once in a while the guy makes a good point, you know."

"I know. And for the record, the Lone Ranger didn't work alone. He had Tonto." Don leaned forward and clapped Mike on the knee. "It's gonna be okay, Mike. I promise."

A lump in his throat blocked Mike's breath for a minute, so he just nodded. "Yeah. I know it will." In his mind he added, "_But will you?"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Nope, still don't own them. But reviews, I do love them. Hint hint.**

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One of the odder things about living underground was that one never knew when dawn rose. There was no soft light, no gentle birds chirping a greeting to the sun, no dew drying slowly in the morning glow. The same dark shadows blanketed the lair no matter how brightly the sun shone on the street above. Underground, the only clue that a new day had begun was the atonal blast of Leonardo's alarm clock. Usually at some ungodly early hour.

Dawn was one of the things Donatello missed most about the farm. He missed sitting awake the whole night, watching the diamond-sharp stars move across the sky. He missed waiting for that first pink glow to edge the hills, for that first ray of sun to break over the horizon and warm his face. Mostly, he missed seeing April's sleep-bleary face as she stumbled into the kitchen, moaning for the cup of coffee he always had ready for her. They had spent many mornings talking quietly across the rough-hewn kitchen table, welcoming a new day, enjoying one another, enjoying life.

Now, Don sat silently on the couch, one leg tucked up under him, hugging his arms over his chest against the chill of the damp lair. His head was throbbing with a low-level headache, brain clamoring for sleep. He heard the low buzz of the overhead light as the fluorescent blinked on, and squinted against the glare. A quick glance revealed Leonardo at the door of his room, brow creased, one hand knuckling the sleep from his eyes. "Have you been up all night?"

Don shrugged, unwilling to admit that he had. He, as always, preferred to remain in the background, on the periphery. Being the center of attention was never his cup of tea. And he knew that if Leo had any idea what was on his mind, all hell would break loose. No point in stirring the pot. "Not just me, bro. Mike was keeping me company."

Mike was sprawled across an armchair, open-mouthed, one arm flung over his eyes. He had succumbed to sleep after about an hour of sitting in silence. _Bless his heart, _thought Don. _The boy's not cut out for introspection._

"You need to get back to a routine, Donny." Leo ducked his chin to make sure Donatello looked at him. "It's the first step to healing." He dropped a hand onto Don's shoulder and squeezed gently.

Don bit back a snotty remark, reminding himself that Leonardo was only doing what he knew how to, trying to help, trying to lead. There was no way for him to know what was in Don's heart. Don didn't _want_ him to know. He never wanted his noble brother to feel anger strong enough to stamp out every rule, every moral, you ever believed in. Without his nobility, he wasn't Leo.

Donatello shrugged away from Leonardo's touch. "I'm gonna take a walk, Leo. I want to check the sensors in the south tunnels, make sure that everything is working. I've had some glitches with them lately, and we don't need any surprises right now." Don stood and stretched the kinks out of his neck. "Don't know how long I'll be."

"Donny." Leo's voice held questions, and concern.

"It's okay, Leo. I promise." Don turned, aware of Leo's gaze burning a hole in his back. He shrugged into an overcoat and buttoned it to his chin, and slipped out of the lair into the sewers.

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The sky had brightened to a soft gold as the sun's first light spilled into the city. After a quick glance up and down the street, Don crept down the fire escape to April's window. He pulled a shuriken from his belt and used it to jimmy open the lock, and with one last look at the street, he slipped inside.

His heart clenched as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The apartment was a shambles. Chairs overturned, broken glass strewn everywhere. Blood on the floor. Obviously April had put up a hell of a fight. Donatello felt a surge of rage in his stomach, but pushed it down, stored it away. He'd need it later, he knew. He walked the perimeter of the living room, eyes wide and scanning, searching for something, anything that could lead him to the answers he was seeking.

His eyes widened as he walked into April's bedroom. The room was untouched, pristine, with flowers wilting on the bedside table. April's dressing gown hung on a hook by the door, and Don ran his fingers over the silk sash. It was as if any moment April would come walking out of the bathroom, hair tousled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and smiling a welcome. But Don's eyes were drawn to the wall, where there hung a framed picture, a photograph that Don remembered well. They had given it to April for her birthday, a photo of the four brothers and their father, smiling into the camera. Mike's fingers had sprouted bunny ears behind Raphael's unsuspecting head. Even Leo was smiling, smiling for real. It was a moment caught in time, a moment that they could never have back, and it made Don so sad.

But it wasn't the photo that transfixed Donatello. It was the dagger that pierced the glass, sending a spider web of cracks reaching outward. The point of the dagger had split Splinter down the middle, right at the heart. From the knife there hung a tassel, which was wound around a scrap of parchment. With shaking fingers, Don unwound the tiny scroll and read the words, scrawled in kanji.

"Oh, God," he whispered.

"No God to help you now, freak."

Donatello whirled, dropping the scroll and snatching his bo. Immediately, he cursed himself for his inattentiveness. There was a helluva lot of Purple Dragons in the room, all of them with sneers and smirks. All of them with weapons. This was going to be bad. He quickly sized up the room, searching for an exit, for an escape. But out of the corner of his eye, Don caught a glimpse of another photo, propped up on the dresser. It was a shot of April and Casey, grinning wildly into the camera, blissful, joyous. The sight of his friends' faces, of _April's_ face, hardened Don's heart into a pulsing ball of flame, of anger.

"You sons-of-bitches." His voice was a whisper like granite. Rage pulsed in him, a roaring fire that raced from the pit of his stomach and through his chest, scorching him, and he leapt forward, bo flying. He bashed into the first Dragon, a glancing blow of his fist sending teeth skittering across the floor. Two other punks leapt onto his back, but he shrugged them off, rewarding one with a stunning mule-kick to the midsection. His staff flipped through his fingers, smashing into the skull of one of his attackers, and a lightning-swift tornado kick sent another flying back to crash through a window.

As Don stepped backward, he stumbled over the prone form of one of the Dragons, briefly losing his balance. The punks were smart enough to take advantage, four or five of them piling on, knocking him onto his back. Don bucked and writhed, clawing and snarling, his anger bringing him strength he had never known before. He managed to squirm free of their grasp and started to roll to his feet.

But before he could get upright, he felt a sting in his neck, and fingers of ice began to creep across his skin, sliding up to squeeze his brain. He struggled against it, lashing out and shattering the nose of the nearest Dragon, but the gang piled back on, forcing him to his knees. Someone snatched his staff away, so he just started swinging wildly, each blow weaker than the last until finally he couldn't bring himself to fight anymore. Darkness was creeping in, narrowing his vision to a pinpoint. The last thing he saw was the grim face of Hun, and then there was only black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to those who have reviewed thusfar...and don't worry, I'll not leave this for so long again. I'm committed. As always, none of these folks belong to me.**

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_A hissing, gurgling breath, then another._

_Then silence._

_A swirl of red water circling a sewer drain._

_A scream of rage._

_A brother's eyes, tearless but full to the brim with pain._

_A flame, licking at flesh, sending sparks into a starless night._

_He knew he was dreaming, knew it was a nightmare, but it didn't comfort him any, and he could feel the heat of tears on his cheeks. Worse yet, he could feel the slick warmth of April's blood on his skin._

Michelangelo woke with a start, mostly due to the sound of Raphael destroying a practice dummy in the dojo. He groaned and pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to push the dream to the back of his brain. Rolling out of the chair, Mike stretched, pulling one foot up behind him to uncrimp his cramping quads.

Shuffling toward the kitchen, he nodded a sleepy hello to Leo, who was seated at the table, perusing one of Splinter's old texts by the light of a bare bulb. As he pulled a bowl from the cupboard and filled it to brimming with Cap'n Crunch, Mike asked, "Donny back yet?"

Leo glanced up at the clock and his brow furrowed. "No. He should be back by now, actually. It doesn't take that long to get to the south sensors."

"Sensors? Dude told me he was goin' to April's. Didn't think he was leavin' so early, though." Milk splashed out of the carton as Leonardo grabbed Michelangelo's wrist. "Easy, dude!"

"Don went to April's?" There was danger in Leo's voice.

"He told me last night he was gonna go over and make sure there was nothin' in the apartment that could lead to us." Mike dipped his head to suck some milk off his hand. "Jeez, dude, try decaf."

"He went to April's. Alone." Full-on anger had crept into Leo's tone. "And you didn't tell anyone."

"First of all, I was sleepin'. And second, Donny's been to April's by himself loads of times." Mike picked up a piece of cereal and popped it into his mouth.

"Mike, somebody kidnapped and killed April, probably from her apartment. How fucking safe can it be for one of us to go there alone?" Raphael had appeared from nowhere and was standing over Mike, an angry-looking vein pulsing in his neck. "What was that dumbass thinking?"

"Raphael!" Splinter's sharp bark made all three turtles jump. "You will not speak of your brother in that way." He tapped a claw on his walking stick and lowered his chin, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "What has happened, Leonardo?"

"Master, Donatello went to April's apartment by himself several hours ago, and he hasn't returned. I'm worried." Leonardo bowed his head slightly, ignoring Raphael's sneer of derision.

"You must go for him. Bring him home," ordered Splinter. As the three turned from him, he stopped them with a word. "My sons." The brothers looked down at their father, struck suddenly at how small and withered he seemed. "I know that you are mourning Miss O'Neil. And I know that your grief has brought you many questions. But in these times of sorrow, we must be strong as a family. Do not allow your pain to become anger. To allow ourselves to be divided by our tears will only cause more pain." One by one, he met his sons' eyes. "The best way to honor her memory is to not allow her loss to change you."

With a muffled growl, Raphael turned and stumped out of the lair, snatching up an overcoat as he went. Leonardo shared a knowing look with Mike, and they followed their brother, leaving their sensei in silence.

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Rafael was the first down the fire escape, leaping from the rooftop to the landing in one bound. Leo and Mike followed at a more sedate pace, down the steps, watchful for witnesses. But when they reached the window and slipped inside, all three stopped short, stunned. "Oh, man." Mike's voice wasn't anything more than a whisper softened with impending tears, and Leo squeezed his shoulder for support. 

"Donny?" Raph, of course, was the first to regain his composure, and he began storming around the apartment, kicking at overturned furniture and generally making a big mess even bigger. "Donny!" Neither Leo nor Mike believed his bluster. He was hiding his pain.

Leo turned to Mike. "You okay, Mikey?" he asked in a low voice, softly touching his brother on the head. Mike nodded, blinking away tears. "No, you're not."

"She must've been so scared…" Mike's voice quivered, and he looked away from Leo, sliding a hand under his eyes.

Leo found he couldn't speak around the lump in his throat, so he just nodded and gripped Mike's shoulder again.

"Hey Leo?"

Leonardo looked down at his younger brother, heart swelling. "Yeah, Mike?"

"When'll I stop bein' sad?" Mike's quiet question sent a pang through Leonardo's chest.

"I don't know, buddy."

"Leo!" Raphael's sudden scream spurred both brothers to a run. They raced into the bedroom, hearts pounding, but Leo stopped so short that Mike bashed into him from behind, knocking him forward to one knee.

Raphael was standing like a stone, his face blank with shock. The bedroom was a mess, just like the rest of the apartment, but that wasn't what he was looking at. Propped up against the wall, next to a shattered picture of the brothers and their father, were the blood-spattered, splintered remains of Donatello's staff.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to those who have reviewed thusfar. I'm having fun, which is always a good sign for a story. More pain and torture to come...Please review! And as always, the Turtles et al don't belong to me.**

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Donatello didn't so much wake up as explode into consciousness. One minute was blissful non-existence; the next was an onrushing wave of pain, nausea, and the taste of blood. His head was throbbing with a splitting pulse and he drew his arms and legs up to his chest, curling away from the pain. Nausea rolled over him and he gagged once, vaguely glad that he hadn't eaten in a few days. A few dry heaves and he rolled onto his stomach, laying his cheek against the cool floor and taking a few deep, shaking breaths.

_Oh, this is bad. Very bad._

Forcing himself to open his eyes against a fluorescent glare, he scanned his surroundings quickly, squinting in the light. He was in a tiny room, only big enough to lie down, covered from floor to ceiling with dingy white tile. There was a patch of dried blood beneath his head, and he touched his lip with his fingers to find an ugly split there. He sucked it a moment, feeling a fresh bloom of blood wash over his tongue with a coppery tang. His skin was dark with bruises, and there was a nasty gash across one of his biceps. He pulled off one of his wristbands and wrapped it tightly around the wound, wincing as the cloth bit into the flesh.

Slowly, Don began to curl his fingers, flex his arms, bend his knees; checking for injury. Other than a stiffness borne of the vicious beating given by the Dragons, he felt generally undamaged. _Thank goodness for small favors._

"Awake, my friend?"

The voice drove Donatello to his feet in an instant, his hand instinctively grasping for his staff, only to find air. "Who's there?"

The air before him shimmered and a face swam into view. _Holograph,_ thought Don, backing away until his shell bumped against the wall with a dull thump. His heart clenched as he recognized the image. "Bishop."

"I do apologize for the rough treatment you were given by my friends. They lack a certain subtlety." The man's smooth voice belied the violence that Donatello knew lurked beneath.

"Well, that's what happens when you don't do your own dirty work," Don growled, clenching his fist. "I have to admit, I'm going to enjoy killing you."

Bishop chuckled deep in his throat, shaking his disembodied-head. "I seriously doubt that. To be honest, by the time we're done…" He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I think you'll probably be begging _me _to kill _you_."

"You killed April, you son-of-a-bitch." Don's voice was edged with icy hate.

"There's no need for name-calling, Donatello. It was an unfortunate sacrifice, but one that had to be made." Bishop feigned a look of sadness.

"Why? Why did you do it?" Donatello hated the catch in his throat, the waver in his voice. "She was innocent. How could you kill a woman in cold blood?"

"I needed to draw you into the open. The best way to do so was to take something you loved. I knew that her death would light a fire beneath you, a desire to find her killers. I needed you to come looking for me." Bishop's cold logic made Don sick to his stomach. "It brought me no pleasure, I assure you."

"I'm sure that makes her family feel much better," spat Don.

Bishop inclined his head to one side. "To be honest, I really expected your brother Rafael to come. I thought his temper would bring him here quickly. I was taken aback that you were the one that they brought to me."

Don sneered, "Get used to surprises."

"False bravado doesn't become you. And actually, it is probably more fitting that you are the one. As a scholar, you should be able to appreciate the idea of sacrificing for science." Bishop gave a small, twisted smile. "Take solace in this, my friend. What we learn from you will benefit mankind for ages to come."

"You can kill me. But my brothers will come for you, and you'll pay." Don leaned forward, eyes flashing. "They're going to make you scream." With that, he spat at the hologram, not caring that it flew straight through the image and smacked against the wall. It was the thought that counted.

"We shall see, Donatello. But in the meantime, I suggest that you seek peace with your Maker. Whoever that may be." Bishop's eyes narrowed. "Because I'm not the one who will be screaming before the end."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to those who have reviewed (a special note to DB... I'm beyond stoked that you're a reader. You're my fav!) The next chapter is well underway, so you shouldn't have to wait long for an update. And as always, I own nothing.**

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The silence in April's bedroom was total.

The bed was overturned, her grandmother's hand-sewn quilt torn and bloodied. A table lamp lay shattered among shards of glass from a broken window. There was blood drying, rusty brown, on the hardwood floor. The air smelled like sweat and blood and fear.

Raphael stood like a stone, fists clenched, eyes distant. Leonardo could see that he was stunned to silence, swimming in a simmering rage that was waiting for a spark to ignite it. Leo moved forward to grasp him by the shoulder, but stopped short as his eye caught a glimpse of white beneath the crimson-stained splinters of Don's staff. A scrap of paper. He stooped and snatched it up, eyes quickly scanning the Japanese characters. "The game begins. Your move," he murmured.

"What does that mean?" Mike stood at Leo's elbow, eyes wide, face pale.

"I don't know." Leo's chest clenched, a pain radiating up from his stomach, and he blinked quickly to banish the tears that were burning his eyes. How could this be happening?

"What kind of sick fuck thinks this is a game?" Raphael's voice wasn't much more than a ragged whisper. Leo couldn't answer and only crushed the paper in his fist, hand shaking. "What the hell is going on, Leo?"

"It's Bishop." Leo and Raphael both turned to Mike, whose quiet voice was filled with realization, and with fear. "A chess game. It's Bishop."

Raphael's eyes flashed. "I'll kill 'im," he growled, hand on sai, and he moved toward the door. But Leonardo stopped him with an upraised hand.

"We're not going to rush in, Raph. That's what Donny did, and look now. We have to do this cool, use our heads." Leonardo ducked his chin to catch Raphael's eye, and Raph acknowledged his comment with a little growl. "What I don't understand is why. Why April?"

"To draw us out, Leo. She was bait," Raphael snapped. "He knew we'd come after whoever killed her." He turned toward Mike, but stopped short when he saw that his younger brother was no longer there. "Mike?"

Michelangelo was now crouched by the wall, gathering up the broken pieces of Don's bo. Both fists were full, but as he picked up one piece, two more would fall from his hand back to the floor. He wasn't trying now to stop his tears, letting them run free down his cheeks and drip to the floor. "Mike." Leo knelt by his brother's side, reaching to run a hand over his arm. "Come on."

"S'my fault." The words were muffled, mumbled.

"What? Why?" Raphael stared down at Mike with a wrinkled brow.

"I knew." A small, catching sob.

"What did you know, Mike?" Leo cast a warning glance at Raphael as he saw the tendons in Raph's neck throb once with tension. "What do you mean?"

"I knew Donny wanted to find the guys who killed April." Mike looked up at Raphael, over at Leonardo. "We talked about it last night. He's just so angry; I've never seen him like that before. But I never thought…"

"Why didn't you say anything?" rumbled Raphael. From the twitching of his jaw muscles, it was clear that he was trying valiantly to keep his temper in check. "You should have told somebody."

"It's Donny!" Mike protested. "I thought he was just coming here to clean out the apartment, not that he was looking for trouble! Donny doesn't do things like this! You do!" Raphael narrowed his eyes but didn't contradict his brother. "I thought he was just talking!"

"Something changed in him after April died." Leo shook his head. "He blamed himself. He thinks it's his fault." He didn't look at Raphael. The words he was swallowing down didn't need to be said. There would be time for finger-pointing later. And there_ would _be finger-pointing.

"So he's trying to fix it?" Mike ran a hand under his eyes, swiping away his tears and snuffling once.

"Or he's punishing himself," Leo replied grimly.

"So now what, Fearless?" Raphael forced himself to relax his fists. "We know Bishop's got him, but where?"

"His labs, obviously," replied Leo, standing and clenching his own fists. "That's what he's wanted all along. He's obsessed with figuring out the mutagen, with what made us. But Donny walked right into his hands." Leo looked down at the blood on the floor and ground his teeth. "_Dammit."_

"We have to go get him." Mike stood, pressing a few splinters of the staff into his palm. "Now."

"We will, Mike." Leo spoke around clenched teeth. "We'll get him."

Together the brothers silently filed out of April's bedroom, the things that they had seen there seared into their memories. Raphael was almost vibrating with rage, eyes wild and jaw muscles jumping, but he kept was obviously trying his damndest to keep control. Mike had slipped a few pieces of Don's bo into his belt, blanching at the gummy blood they left on his hands.

Raphael led the way out the window, standing for a few seconds on the fire escape and looking out over the street, taking in a view that he suddenly felt he might not see again. There would be no reason to return here, to April's, to see her street, to hear the neighbors, to smell the smells of the restaurant on the corner. There wouldn't be a point. Because April was gone.

As he felt the presence of his brothers behind him, Raph began to climb toward the roof, setting his jaw. They may have lost April, but there was no way in hell that they were going to lose Don. There was going to be blood today.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to all reviewers...it's so cool to be reviewed by people whose TMNT fics I count among some of my favorites. Thank you!**

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For a millisecond there wasn't anything but pain. Normally his brain was able to filter out physical pain and allow him to function despite it. That was the way of the Ninja. Will. Control. Focus. But this was an all-encompassing, brain-searing, intestine-wrenching pain, and at the first shock of it there was no thought, there was only agony. But when a groan forced its way through his gritted teeth and he caught his breath in a gasp, his brain cleared enough to remember what was happening.

Bishop. Donatello couldn't see the man but could hear his voice, faintly, over the buzzing in his ears. He wriggled once, pulling at the straps that pinned his wrists to an icy metal table, but the leather bonds were too strong. His hands dropped back to the table and he shut his eyes, concentrating instead on just catching his breath. He was surrounded by medical equipment, measuring his heart-rate, his respiration, his temperature. The steady tones of the machines provided a harmony to the sound of his own harsh breathing.

But then another wave of pain, excruciating, slammed his head back against the unforgiving steel, and over the pounding of his own heartbeat he heard himself moan, cry out for his father.

_**Splinter! **_

His foggy brain heard himself begging, crying. _Weakling_, his mind screamed, _don't you show him fear!_

Like a child again, begging for help, for salvation, while his tormenters looked on. He heard Bishop give a low chuckle, far off. Gleeful. Gloating. Enjoying his pain. Enjoying the humiliation of his enemy groveling, writhing.

Pain like fire slashed at him, like knives of flame and acid tearing apart his insides, wrenching from him another near-scream. Blood like a river, gushing from his chest, from his mouth, spilling onto the floor with audible splashes. More blood than anyone should ever lose. He gave a small sob, then a choking gurgle as the blood in his throat stopped his breath for a moment, hot and tasting of iron, like fear sometimes tastes. Another gurgle, then the hot blood rolled down his chin, painting his skin with warrior stripes.

As the agony receded for a moment, a horrible thought suddenly struck Don. _Please don't let this be what April felt…_

A fuzzy shape swam into his vision and he blinked, forcing his eyes to focus. Bishop was leaning over him, eyebrow cocked with curiosity. "How are you feeling?" Donatello did not reply, only shut his eyes and turned his face to the side, spitting out another mouthful of blood. Bishop gave a huff of exasperation. "I would think that you, of all of your family, would understand the importance of what we're doing here, and how much we need your cooperation." Bishop hooked a rolling stool with his toe and pulled it up, sitting down and leaning closer to Don. "So how would you rate that pain, on a scale of one to ten?" He stared down, waiting in silence for an answer.

"Why are you doing this?" Don's voice was a raw whisper, and he hated the weakness he heard in it.

"For the betterment of man, Donatello." Bishop's eyes suddenly glinted with a strange light. "Imagine soldiers impervious to pain, faster and stronger than the enemy. Super-intelligent scientists able to create new and better ways to protect the country. Doctors able to grow new limbs for amputees. If we can isolate what it is that made you, we can manipulate it, improve it. There are no limits to what we could do."

"How long…" Don's voice hitched in his chest and he swallowed hard. "How long are you going to keep chasing this pipe dream, Bishop? The mutagen is gone. Didn't you learn your lesson before? How many monsters will you set loose on the city before you finally get it?"

"Stockman was a fool. His smug self-satisfaction colored his research, and his own ambitions were dangerous. We will not make the same mistakes twice." Bishop stood, kicking the stool backward. "I take no pleasure in this, Donatello, I assure you. I only hope that you can find comfort in the fact that your pain will help to protect future generations."

Don heard footsteps receding and he craned his neck, trying to see where Bishop had gone. But he was too soon distracted by an ominous, growing hum, the sound of electricity coursing through lines, and then a spasm of pain wracked him, drawing a gasp and a groan.

He wanted to call out for his brothers, to gather his strength and reach out for them on the astral plane, but he couldn't concentrate. He needed his brothers. Needed them both now more than ever before, but he was weak. _Weak, just like always._

Donatello let out a convulsive cough, and a wet spray of blood issued from his throat, spattering his chin. The tangy iron taste in his mouth brought a hot slick of tears to his eyes and he closed them, unwilling to let Bishop see his emotion.

A flaring heat began to build in his chest, an unbearable, searing flame, until he thought he would die from the pain of it. He stifled a scream, the little bit of Don that still lived in his mind forbidding him to cry out. Instead he bit down on his lower lip, feeling blood spurt fresh from his mouth.

Searing flashes of white light blazed across his vision, and he was blind to everything but the pain. He bit down on his tongue, trying to swallow a scream, but all he ended up swallowing was blood. Every muscle in his body was on fire, cramping and seizing against the electricity Bishop was shooting into him. It felt as though his eyes had melted in their sockets and were running, thick and hot, down his face. And then that Donatello realized that they were tears.

And still the pain went on. On and on for what seemed like hours, interrupted only by Bishop's interrogations. _How bad is the pain? What does it feel like? Tell me your secrets, and I can stop all this. _It had become clear that Bishop was willing to take Don apart, muscle by muscle, sinew by sinew, to find what he was looking for.

He was too weak now to even cry out. He choked again on the blood in his mouth, and he felt himself grimace, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Darkness began to creep in from the edges of his vision, unconsciousness coming to save him from the pain and the horror of smelling his own burning flesh, and Donatello wasn't so sure he didn't welcome the dark.


	7. Chapter 7

**I have no excuse for waiting so long to update. Please don't let that stop you reviewing...**

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Michelangelo crouched in the darkness, the concrete cold against his bare feet. The sterile walls of the Landfall Building rose above him like a bare cliff face, gleaming in the pale moonlight. He reached out and smoothed his palm across the cool stone, reaching out with his mind, trying to find a trace of Don, a glimmer of his brother's spirit. But there were only shadows, dark shadows that frightened him. Evil was here.

Mike glanced to the side, where he could barely make out Leonardo's form, standing stone still in the dark. At Mike's side, Raphael was drawn tight as a bowstring. Mike reached over and touched Raph's arm, and Raph glanced at him with a grim look. But he couldn't stop himself from laying his hand over Mike's with a reassuring squeeze. No matter his rage, he would do his damndest to protect his youngest brother.

But both Raphael and Mike froze as they saw Leonardo's body tense. He glanced over his shoulder, and motioned for Mike and Raphael to follow, then leaped straight up, snagging a chink in the bricks, and began to climb. Without any words, the other two followed, scaling the face of the building like silent spiders. Farther and farther below the street fell, until the cars looked like toys and the people like ants.

Leo hoisted himself over the parapet of the building, landing crouched with one hand lightly resting on the pebbled surface of the roof. Raphael knelt at his side, his face hard and angry. Leonardo rested a calming hand on Raph's shoulder, trying to telegraph calm, strength, control. "We'll find him." His voice was barely audible, but both Raphael and Michelangelo took strength from it.

Together, like a shadow cast by the moon, the brothers crept silently to the access door on the corner of the roof. Leo knelt at the door and pulled a shuriken from his belt, using it to pick the lock. The door opened with a loud creaking clang and Mike winced, expecting a rain of attackers to fall. But there was no sound other than the traffic on the street far below.

Michelangelo followed his brothers on silent feet as they crept down the stairs. The only light was a dim glow from the emergency exit signs, though far below there was the sound of activity. They moved swiftly, covering ten flights in less than a minute. Leonardo stopped in front of a door marked with numerous "Do Not Enter" and "Restricted" signs, behind which there rang the sounds of voices. He placed his hand on the door, made eye contact with both his brothers, then silently mouthed a count down from three.

_Three_

Mike grasped his nunchucks tightly in his fists, taking a deep and shaking breath.

_Two_

Raphael was almost vibrating with tension.

_One_

Leo yanked the door open and leaped out into the hallway with one smooth motion. Raphael vaulted after him with a feral snarl. Mike followed quickly, snapping his 'chucks into motion. But he nearly ran headlong into his brothers, who stood frozen just inside the door.

They were in what clearly was a lab, all sparkling white lights and shiny metal surfaces. Several technicians were standing, staring open-mouthed at the strange creatures that had invaded their world. Raphael was still growling, deep in his chest, gripping his sais with near-white knuckle strength.

"Where is he?" Leonardo's voice was low, dangerous. He pinned a small, mousy tech with his gaze, and advanced on her with menace. "Tell me now." The scientist cringed away from him, her hands shaking visibly.

"I…I don't know…" she whispered. The tip of Leo's katana came up and pressed lightly into the curve of her neck. She gave a little squeal of fear. "I swear, I don't know, I don't know! They keep the test subjects in another area, all we do is quantify and study results…" Her words came out in a babbling flood.

"What level?" Raphael shouldered past Leonardo, stopping mere inches from the now-cowering scientist.

"Sub…subbasement four…" she stammered, pressing her eyes closed as though she expected to be torn limb from limb in short order. Instead, Raph leaned around her and brought his sai down on a computer panel, sending sparks flying.

"If we hear one alarm, if you make one fucking phone call to tell them we're coming…" Raphael leaned so close to the woman that his breath stirred her hair. "I will come back and I will find you and I will make you scream…" This was enough for the tech to burst into tears, falling into a lump on the shining tile floor. Leo gave Raph a tight-lipped scowl, but said nothing. Instead he found the main power conduit for the room and severed it with a quick blow of his katana. The room plunged into darkness.

The brothers dodged into the hallway. Michelangelo pulled the door shut behind him, then smashed the electronic lock with a powerful blow of his fist. Raph pressed the elevator button with the butt of his sai and took a deep breath. Mike could see the anger in his face, but he seemed to be keeping it in control. Leonardo was grimfaced and quiet.

The elevator doors _shushed _open and the three stepped inside, turning to face the front and eying the digital readout as it descended toward the basement. Mike cleared his throat, then quietly spoke. "Did she say test subjects?" He felt Raphael stiffen next to him.

"Jesus." Leo's voice wasn't much more than a whisper. But he shook himself, straightening and putting on his best Fearless Leader voice. "We can't focus on that now. We find him, we get him out. We'll deal with the rest later."

A sudden shiver crept up Mike's neck and he shuddered, strangely afraid. If he had listened hard, over the hum of the elevator and the hammering of his own heart, he might have heard an agonized scream.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm doing my damndest to keep updates frequent. Reviews help me do so, hint hint. Fair warning, graphic stuff ahead. ****Nope, they're still not mine. Dangit. (Thanks, Willowfly, for catching my error here)**_

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_

Donatello opened his eyes and stared at blinding light above him, at the ceiling that was so white it seemed to suck in all the colors of the room. The single light cast eerie shadows on the walls, illuminating a room full of ominous looking medical equipment. He was lying on a slab, the cold metal leeching the warmth from his bones.

_The sound of footsteps against the tile floor drew his attention and he moved to sit up, to reach for a weapon, but his body wouldn't respond. He looked down and saw that his hands and ankles were strapped to the table, bound so tightly that the circulation to his hands was cut off, turning his fingers an ugly dark color._

_He began to struggle against the bonds, thrashing and pulling, but was shocked into stillness as a face came into view. It was the leering face of Bishop, who was eyeing him with sinister glee. "Don't be afraid." Don's heart skipped a beat and he swallowed down a wave of nausea as he felt Bishop's hand caress his cheek. _

"_I'm trying to help you." Bishop's touch was soft, almost sensual, as it traced down Don's cheek to his throat and brushed against his pulse point._

_Then the touch disappeared and Don lifted his head again, frantically looking for Bishop, searching for escape. There came the clatter of metal on metal, of surgical instruments on a tray, and then Bishop drifted back into view, scalpel in hand. His fingers grazed the skin of Don's throat like a lover's touch, but Don felt only the coldness of death._

"_It's going to be all right." The scalpel bit into Don's flesh, tracing a line in crimson blood across his throat. Don bit down around a groan, feeling more rage than pain, and he pulled again at the straps that held his wrists, his biceps straining._

"_Don't be afraid," soothed Bishop again, drawing the scalpel across Don's flesh a second time, deeper this time. With those words, he laid down the blade and placed his hands on Don's bleeding skin. "Everything will be fine." With icy fingers, he grasped the edges of the incision and pulled with all his strength, tearing the flesh and sending a well of blood pouring from the wound._

"_Think of all the lives you'll save…"_

_Don arched his back against the agony of it, breath coming in panting gasps, hands squeezed into white-knuckled fists. _

_"Your sacrifice could help millions…"_

_The well of blood grew to a fountain, splashing on the table and the floor in loud, sickening splats._

"_You should be so proud…"_

_Bishop dug still further into the wound and Don could feel him wrenching at his insides, exploring, yanking, tearing. His legs began to spasm in a palsy of pain and shock, his heels drumming against the table._

"_You should be thankful that you can teach us so much…"_

_Don wanted to call out for help. But he could only scream._

"_You will be a hero…"_

_Why wouldn't his brothers come? Where were his brothers?_

Don woke with a strangled scream, the dream strobing in his brain. He tried to flail out against the memory of it, to grasp his throat, seal his wounds, but his hands were still bound tightly to the table. He shut his eyes, trying to slow his breath, to still his hammering heart. _Was it a dream? _Hot tears burned the backs of his eyelids, filled his head with heat. Fear clutched like a steel band around his stomach.

"Finally awake?"

Donatello's breath caught in his throat at the voice and he snapped his eyes open, putting on a blank mask, hiding his fears. Bishop's face swam into view, hovering just within Don's line of sight. "I'm glad to see you conscious. I had started to wonder if you were ever going to come to." Bishop pulled a stool up to the table. He dropped to a seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's so very difficult to gauge the research if you're not awake to tell us how you're feeling."

Anger boiled in Don's chest, and he managed to summon enough strength to send a mouthful of spit in Bishop's general direction. He heard Bishop jerk back and send the stool clattering to the floor. A grim smile slashed across Don's face. "Glad to help, you son of a bitch."

Bishop's strong hand suddenly latched onto Don's throat, cutting off his air. He pushed his face into Don's, snarling with hatred. "You should feel lucky that I didn't kill you outright, you freak." He seemed to catch himself, to strive for control, and his grip loosened. Don sucked in a strangled breath.

"Well, why don't you do it? Do us both a favor." Don's voice dropped to a low growl, filled with every ounce of spite he could muster. "I'd rather die than help you." _It's nothing less than what I deserve._

"That can be arranged." Cold control had returned to Bishop's voice. "But don't think that you'll get off that easily. Whether you cooperate or not, I'll find the answers. I'll extract them from your beating heart if I have to." He leaned back over Don, forcing him to meet his gaze. "And then I'll use what I learn to find your brothers. And I'll learn even more from them. Don't think that you're so special. You're just the first in line."

Don tried to lash out, to fight, bucking against his straps. He would have torn Bishop's throat out with his teeth if he could, such was his rage. "You lay a finger on them and I'll drink your blood!" he screamed. "I'll make you suffer, you bastard!" He writhed, struggling against his bonds, wanting nothing more than to close his fingers around Bishop's throat. He heard the hum of electricity, knew what was coming, but his anger left no room for fear. "If you touch my brothers I'll kill you! I will kill you all!"

The pain cut his voice dead in his throat, a soundless scream wracking his body. But down deep inside him, where Don's soul lived, he was suddenly glad that it was he rather than one of his brothers. He would swallow this torture down, soak it in like a sponge, if only it could keep his family safe.


	9. Chapter 9

**Spent a good portion of the weekend watching Ernie Reyes Jr. movies. Damn, the guy is amazing. Why does he not have a bigger career? Anyway, please review...pleeeeease.**

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Leonardo's pulse quickened as he watched the elevator display drop closer to their destination. He gripped his katanas tightly, staring at the glowing numbers, reaching out toward Donatello with all his senses, though he could not feel his brother's spirit at all. There was only cold silence, and a deep sense of fear.

2

_We're comin', bro._

1

_Just hold on._

S1

_It's gonna be okay._

S2

_We're gonna take you home._

S3

_Please, Donny, just hang on._

S4

The elevator 'dinged' and the doors shooshed open. The brothers crept out silently, fleeting as shadows. Only emergency lights lit the hallway, casting an eerie glow on the walls and tile floors. Leo led the way, crouched low. His keen ears caught the sound of a voice, drifting down from the end of the hall, and a bright light stabbed outward from an open door.

Leo jerked his chin, gesturing down toward the light. His brothers didn't need to speak, but fell into line behind him, and they sprinted down the hall together, stopping just short of the door. Leo held up a fist, signaling silence and stillness, and peeked around the doorjamb into the room, but his breath caught in his throat at what he saw.

Donatello was lying on a steel table, bound wrist and ankle with heavy straps. His skin was pale and he was still as death. His eyes were half open and rolled back so that only the whites showed. A flood of red-hot anger rushed over Leo and he growled low in his throat, rage overwhelming caution. He burst into the room, katanas held high.

In the corner, a man whirled to face Leonardo, mouth open in an 'o' of ill-disguised shock. His eyes met Leo's and both halted in a split second of mutual recognition. "Bishop…" snarled Leo, leaping toward the man with a speed and fury that surprised even him.

Michelangelo followed Leo through the door, but froze in shock when he saw Don, trussed on the table like a sacrifice. His mind flashed back to April's bloody form and he gasped, suddenly terrified. _Not Donny, please not Donny. _He ran forward to Don's side, but was nearly knocked off his feet by Raphael, who was sprinting headlong toward Bishop and Leo, screaming at the top of his lungs, his face contorted with rage.

Mike skidded to a stop at Don's side, heart hammering. He snatched a small blade from his belt and sliced through the straps that bound his brother to the table. Don's skin was cold and damp with sweat, and he didn't move as Mike cradled his head against his chest. "Come on, Donny, wake up, bro…please…" he whispered, gathering Don into his arms.

Leonardo had cornered Bishop against a fire door, and was staring him down with blazing eyes. "I should kill you right now," he hissed through clenched teeth. Raphael was standing behind Leo, puffing like a bellows and snarling loudly.

Bishop feigned a smile, doing his best to maintain his composure as he eyed the glittering katana that was poised mere inches from his jugular. "You must realize, Leonardo, that doing so would doom your brother." Raphael fell silent, his breath hot on Leo's neck, but Leo didn't waver. "You see, he has been injected with a solution. Merely an experiment, mind you, to gauge the effects on his physiology. But an antidote would be required. Kill me, Donatello dies."

"You lie," growled Leo, but the tip of his katana dropped a fraction of an inch. It wasn't much, but it was enough, and Bishop suddenly lashed out, knocking the blade away from his throat. His other hand snatched a pistol from his beltline and he fired, sending Leonardo and Raphael diving for cover. Mike yanked Don from the table to the floor and covered him with his own body, kicking the table over for extra cover.

Another shot sounded and Raphael yelled, then Mike heard the fire door crash open. He peeked over the top of the table and saw the door swing shut. Raphael leapt to his feet and charged after Bishop, but when he hit the door with his shoulder, it didn't budge and he bounced off with a screamed curse. He kicked the door, throwing all his weight against it, but to no avail. He stopped, breath heaving, and growled with anger, then gave the door one last punch.

"Forget it, Raph," called Leo. He ran to Mike's side and laid his palm on Donatello's forehead. "Jesus." He shook his head. "We need to get him out of here. Splinter will know what to do."

"But Bishop said he needed an antidote," protested Michelangelo.

"He could be lying." Leonardo didn't sound convinced, and he glanced around the lab. "Mike, grab those vials. Bring everything." Mike reluctantly started to move Donatello into Leo's arms, but Raphael shouldered Leo out of the way.

"Give him here," Raphael ordered. He lifted Don from Michelangelo's arms, cradling him close. "Let's get him out of here, before that bastard sounds the alarm and we're up to our asses in security dicks." Mike glanced at Leo, who nodded in assent. They both started grabbing up every vial and beaker in sight, hoping against hope that they could find the right one.

Raphael held his brother close, looking down into the pale and quiet face that he so often had ignored or even abused, and his heart clutched in his chest. "Come on, Don," he whispered. "You're a warrior. So fight."


	10. Chapter 10

**Nope, I still don't own them. Sigh. Please review, pleeease?**

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Donatello's head rolled against Raphael's shoulder with every step that Raph ran. He was dead weight in Raphael's arms, cold as a stone, still as a corpse. Leonardo was leading the way through the sewers toward the lair and Mike was bringing up the rear, watching behind for pursuers. The splash of the water and his own harsh breaths were the only things Raph could hear. He dropped his gaze to Don's face and prayed a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening. _Please…just please…_

He splashed up to the door of the lair, breathing heavily from the long run and his heavy burden. Leo keyed open the hatch and sprinted inside, shouting. "Master! Master!" There was a sharp note of panic in the edge of his voice that unnerved Raphael, though he would never admit it. He shouldered past Leonardo toward the infirmary, ignoring the muted, whispered pleas from Mike for a promise, an assurance that Donny would be okay. Raphael settled Don onto the bed, softly, ever so gently, secretly terrified that he would jostle his brother and make the whole fucked-up situation that much worse. He smoothed his palm over Donatello's sweat-soaked forehead. "We're home, bro," he whispered, "We're home."

Splinter swept into the room, moving at a clip that Raphael wouldn't have guessed him capable of. He scanned the brothers with worried eyes, then bent and swept a bony paw over Donatello's brow, his face crinkled with concern and, Raphael suspected, fear. "Has he spoken?" Splinter's words were rough with emotion.

"No, Master, not a word," answered Mike, his own emotions putting a quaver in his voice. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Splinter's hand gave a nearly imperceptible tremble as he softly touched Donatello's pale cheek. "I do not know, my son."

"Master, I fear he's been poisoned." Leo's hands were clenched at his sides, and he was fairly vibrating with anger and with the strain of the rescue. Splinter stopped short, turning to look at Leo with a hooded gaze. "Bishop said something about him needing an antidote."

Splinter's eyes darkened with anger. "Bishop," he said quietly.

"We should call April, she'll know what to do!" The words were barely out of Mike's mouth when he went pale with memory. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then he whispered, "Oh. Yeah." A slick of tears brightened his eyes, and Raphael squeezed his shoulder with a strong grip, trying to telegraph an understanding and peace that he himself didn't feel. Mike raised his hand to his mouth, biting at a knuckle to stop himself from sobbing.

"We shall have to do our best to help him, my sons, and hope." Splinter motioned to Leonardo. "Come, Leonardo, and you, Michelangelo. We must clean his wounds, and perhaps some herbs and medicines may help him." Splinter led Leo and Mike out of the infirmary, the tip of his cane pocking against the stone floor. To Raphael, the old rat looked hunched and aged, as though many years had fallen suddenly upon him.

Raphael stood looking down at his brother's still form. He suddenly felt bone-tired, so tired that his muscles began to tremble, and he pulled up a chair, dropping to a seat next to the bed. His eyes roamed up and down Don's body, taking in the new wounds and the pale pallor of his brother's skin. Blood was drying across Donatello's chest in rusty brown smears, streaking across the smooth surface of his carapace.

Raphael took a deep breath, pulling in the air as if to cleanse his body and mind of all the fear and anger of the last week. "You know I ain't good at talking', Donny. I'm better at brawlin'. Most times when I do talk it all comes out wrong. I'm a dumbass when it comes to that sort of thing." Raphael shook his head, his hand coming up to trace a ragged scar on Don's shoulder. "But I can talk to you. You always know when to listen and when to give advice, and you never lecture me or judge me, even when I'm bein' a dick. You just let me be me."

Raph stopped, emotion threatening to stop his voice, and he stood, reaching across Don's still body to grab a packet of clean gauze and some rubbing alcohol. He soaked the gauze and smoothed it across Don's chest, wiping away the dried blood and sweat that was crusted across his plastron.

"You can't leave me here alone with Leo and Mike, bro. We'll kill each other, you know that." He gave a little snort of laughter. "Leo is…well, Leo is Leo, and you know Mike can't be serious for more than 45 seconds." He made an exaggerated shudder, even though he knew Don wouldn't see it. "And you know everything in the lair would go to hell if you weren't around to fix it." Raphael forced a mirthless smile. But Don remained motionless, his breaths shallow and uneven.

Raphael dropped his face into his palms. He couldn't ignore it any longer. The feeling had been haunting him from the moment that he walked into April's apartment and realized that Don had been taken. "You know I didn't mean what I said, right, about it bein' your fault? I couldn't handle you thinkin' that you were responsible for April…" He had to stop, not willing to say the words. "For her bein' gone, 'specially if you thought it because of me. I don't think I could live with that." He grasped Donatello's hand, desperate that his brother should hear him, should understand his words. "We all got guilt, man, about one thing or another. Believe me, I know. But don't you dare feel guilty about something that you couldn't control."

He bit the corner of his lip, trying to gain control of the pain in his chest. "I told you that you've never done enough to keep this family safe." Shame flooded him as he repeated the words. "But you've saved our asses more times than I can even count, bro. You've pulled us out of the fire so many times, because you use your head instead of just actin' without thinkin'. And I never gave you credit for that."

He resumed swabbing at Don's chest, needing to erase the blood, the signs of his brother's torture. He tossed a handful of gauze toward the wastebasket, unheeding when it bounced off the rim and onto the concrete floor. "We need you, Don. _I _need you." Raph had to swallow hard, hot tears suddenly burning his eyes. He dashed them away with the back of his hand, vaguely embarrassed. "Aw hell, Donny, I love ya. You gotta fight, man. You just…" He stopped, the lump in his throat momentarily strangling his voice. "You just gotta."


	11. Chapter 11

**I've been terribly lazy about updating...please don't let that stop you from reviewing!**

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The turtles were silent as they stood staring down at the still form of their unconscious brother. The only signs of life that Donatello showed were shallow, uneven breaths that rose and fell with disturbing irregularity. Splinter smoothed a poultice over Don's chest, and the aromas of the herbs tickled all of their noses. After what seemed like hours but must have been only minutes, it was, of course, Raphael who broke the silence.

"I'm gonna tear Bishop limb from limb when I find him." His voice was a low growl, filled with frustration, fear, and rage. "I'm gonna hang his corpse from…"

"Raphael, silence," barked Splinter, his eyes glinting. "Vengeance is not about honoring or avenging the dead. It is about assuaging the guilt of the living." He looked at each of his sons in turn, capturing their gazes and receiving from each one a small bow of understanding. "We will find Bishop, and we will find a cure for Donatello. Perhaps we shall deal the punishment that is due to John Bishop. But to go to him in hate and rage will not heal your brother, and it will not heal your souls. And anger would make us act rashly and without forethought, which brings more danger still."

"It's time to stop wearin' our wishbones where our backbones oughta be," protested Raphael. "We gotta _do _something." There was a shrill tone of desperation and pain in his voice that made Leonardo wince.

Splinter gave a slight nod, acknowledging Raphael's words. "I am not suggesting that we allow this outrage go unanswered, my son. I am merely reminding you that we must be clear of mind when we do answer." His voice softened and he laid a gnarled claw on Raphael's shoulder. "Fear not, Raphael. We will go and retrieve the antidote."

"No, Master, you can't…" Leonardo cut himself short as he saw Splinter's tail lash once. Splinter then fixed Leonardo with a look so powerful that Leo swallowed audibly, cowed into silence.

"Donatello is my son," Splinter said in a low voice, a voice filled with strength and a hidden danger. "I will do what I must to save him." He gently passed his hand across Donatello's forehead, smoothing away the pearls of sweat that were shining on the pale skin. "Allow me some time to gather my mind and meditate, my sons, and think on what our next step shall be." The three brothers bowed simultaneously and Splinter shuffled out of the infirmary, his head low and shoulders slumped as though under a great weight.

"He's gonna be okay, guys." Leonardo laid his own hand on Raphael's shoulder, but Raph shrugged away from his touch, unable to hide his frustration and anger any longer now that Splinter was gone.

"Don't pump sunshine up my ass, Fearless," he hissed. "If we don't get that antidote, he _won't _be okay, and you know it." He turned away from Leo but stopped short when he caught sight of Mike's face. The youngest of the brothers looked like he was watching someone punt a three-legged puppy, his eyes full of sadness and pain and fear.

Leo quickly moved to Mike's side and clasped him by the shoulders. "Listen to me, Mike." When Mike didn't look him in the eyes, Leo shook him slightly. "Look at me." Mike met his gaze and Leo said quietly, "We're going to save him, Mike. We _will._"

"How could this have happened?" Mike's voice was thick with unshed tears, and he turned his pained blue eyes on the body of his brother. "First April, now Donny…" A sob choked him into silence and he fisted his hands as if he could physically fight the horror away. "I can't…Not Donny…" A tear dropped from his eye and tracked down his face as he backed out of Leonardo's grasp, stumbling toward the door, his palm over his mouth.

Leo met Raphael's eyes and nodded. Raphael didn't argue, but turned on his heel and headed out after Mike, jogging to catch up to his fleeing younger brother. His voice faded back to Leonardo's ears, "Hold up, Mikey…"

Leonardo turned back to Donatello, his heart heavy and dull in his chest. _So much pain, so much loss. _He glanced to the side and pulled up a stool, settling to a seat beside the bed. With a sigh that seemed dredged from his toes, he laid the flat of his palm against the curve of the edge of Don's shell, just below the gentle valley in the hollow of his throat.

"Don, I don't know if you can hear me." As he said the words, tears threatened to strangle his voice and he cleared his throat, gathering strength. "You're home now, and we're gonna get you better, okay, bro?" He brushed his thumb against Don's throat until he found the pulse point that throbbed reassuringly under his touch. "We're all here and we're all safe, and you're going to be okay." Leo blinked rapidly, determined not to give into tears.

"Here's the thing, Don." Leo glanced over his shoulder to make sure that there were no prying ears to hear his words, but he lowered his voice all the same. "I know how you felt about April. And I know how honorably you behaved, and how strong you were to be able to still love her as your friend, even though that wasn't all that you wanted from her. I don't know if I could have done that." Sadness at the thought of his brother's pain made Leonardo's heart clench. "But you can't give up just because you've lost her. Because _we _lost her. We still need you bro."

And it was true. Donatello's steady influence often went unnoticed as he lurked quietly behind the scenes, but he was as important to the family as any of the other brothers. Certainly, he did not have the gregarious nature of Michelangelo, nor did he have the fiery determination of Raphael. He didn't even have the strength of leadership with which Leonardo was gifted. Often he got lost in the shuffle of the lair, his gentle nature overrun by the more brazen of his brothers. He was the quiet one, the dependable one. But Leonardo was now reminded of Don's role in their daily lives.

"I can always depend on you, Donny. Always. You lead us every day in some ways. You teach us compassion, and wisdom, and humor and patience and love." Leonardo found himself wishing with all his might that he had made the point to have this discussion with Donatello while both of them were actually, you know, conscious. "You are honorable, Donatello. You've always tried to conduct yourself with honor, to do the right thing no matter how difficult. And I know that for some reason you think that April's death was your fault, even though it isn't. But even if it were, there's no honor in giving yourself over to death because of guilt."

Nearly overcome by the pain of the past few days, Leo dropped his head, resting his forehead against the cool surface of Don's chest. For a few short moments he just breathed, matching breath for breath with Donatello, feeling the closeness of his quietest brother. But as he heard the sounds of his family returning, he straightened and brushed his hand across Don's forehead. "Come back to us, Donny. We need you. Please, you have to fight. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for us."


	12. Chapter 12

**No excuses for the long delay, other than the intrusion of real life. **

* * *

Michelangelo relieved Leonardo of his watch at midnight. Leo made a point of squeezing the back of Michelangelo's neck in a strong, reassuring grip as he whispered, "If there's any change, call me right away." Michelangelo just shrugged away from the touch, nodded and settled onto the stool beside the bed.

He waited, silent, motionless, until he saw the light in Leonardo's room wink out, then he reached out to grasp Donatello's hand. The lair was dark and silent, the only light coming from the bluegreen glow of the medical monitors to which Don was linked.

"Hey, Donny." Michelangelo's words seemed to echo in the quiet, so he lowered his voice. "How you doin', buddy?" He felt slightly stupid, knowing that there would be no answer, but he continued. "You know, I read one time that even if somebody is in a coma or unconscious they can still hear people talking to them, so…" He stopped again, shrugged, and gave Donatello's limp hand a squeeze. "So I'm talking to you."

He eyed the monitors, with their scrolling data, the steady undulating lines of Donatello's breaths and the staccato jumping spikes of his heartbeat. "Splinter and the guys, they're going back to find the stuff to make you better." Michelangelo leaned in closer. "And hopefully they'll kill Bishop while they're at it."

And then it happened. Michelangelo nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Donatello's fingers tighten around his own, and he leapt to his feet, sending the stool crashing backward onto the stone floor. "Guys!" His voice cracked into a higher register as he shouted, "Guys, quick!"

Donatello's lips moved slightly, so Michelangelo leaned close, close enough that he could feel the warmth of his brother's breath on his cheek. "Don't go…" Donatello's voice was little more than a rough, rasping whisper.

"I'm here, bro, I'm not going anywhere." Michelangelo tried to reassure his brother, but Donatello's grip tightened painfully around his fingers.

"S'trap…" Donatello's eyes fluttered as if he was fighting the gravity of unconsciousness. "Don't go…"

"A trap?" Michelangelo's heart tripped quicker in his chest. "Bishop is setting a trap?"

Donatello didn't answer and his grip on Michelangelo's hand began to slacken, but his eyes sought Michelangelo's with a weary desperation. "Jus' let me go," he breathed.

"Don't you dare say that," Michelangelo snapped, anger rushing up hot in his chest. "You're not doing to die, 'cause I'm not going to let you." He took a breath to temper his emotion. "It's not the same without you, bro. You can't give up. We need you." Michelangelo was surprised by the well of tears that slicked his eyes without warning. "_I _need you." With his free hand he brushed the skin of Donatello's bicep. "You're my best friend, and I need you." He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the skin of Donatello's hand. "You have to fight, Donny, please."

When he opened his eyes, he found Leonardo, Raphael, and Splinter standing silently over him, their faces hard with determination. Splinter looked down on his youngest one with sad yet determined eyes. "We will not allow your brother to lose hope, Michelangelo. Nor shall we allow the specter of a trap set by his attacker dissuade us. We shall go with open eyes and wary minds, but we shall go nonetheless." He tipped his head to the side and made sure that Michelangelo was looking him straight in the eyes. "Donatello will live, my son. Have faith."

But Michelangelo had to turn away to hide the fear in his eyes.


End file.
